Not Borrowed, Not Blue
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: It's just another escape from another life-or-death situation for Emma and Killian. Or, as this one is more officially known, their honeymoon.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Future fic. Enjoy :)_

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**NOT BORROWED, NOT BLUE**

They almost didn't make it. Weapons were firing and Emma had to suddenly yank Killian to the left, an arrow getting thin-air instead of his shoulder. There wasn't time for him to comment. Less than five minutes later, they were clattering up a gangplank and onto an invisible ship. Emma scanned the coastline, a few arrows hit the water, but nobody was attempting to follow them. Good.

Killian was already at the wheel, teeth bared in a victorious grin as he directed the ship away from the angry voices. Emma took a moment to try and actually breathe properly, her lungs felt like they were on fire and one of her hands was tightly gripping the side of the ship. Her other hand grasped a sword.

"So..." Killian's voice floated across the deck. "That went well."

Emma arched eyebrows and shook her head. "Yeah, there were attempts on our lives and no cake, so I'd have to..."

There was a sudden flare of light up ahead – a signal fire had been lit. Mary Margaret, David, and Henry were okay and had gotten to where Gold would be meeting them for transportation. There was a flash of brilliant magical light shortly afterward – Gold had kept his word. Emma's lips flattened into a grim line; a child's love couldn't be bought, but it could be used to extract promises from a parent.

"All's well."

Killian's tone said exactly how he felt about trusting Gold. Yeah, Emma didn't trust him either, but Regina, for all her faults, wouldn't let anything happen to Henry. Neither would Belle. It could have been worse – Gold could have insisted on coming to the wedding. So could Neal.

Emma tugged her red leather jacket closer. The wind wasn't too cold, but it made an impression through the creamy silk of her dress. The fabric rippled in the breeze and there was an appreciative murmur from Killian. Emma shot him an incredulous look.

Killian smirked in reply. "Oh, I suppose you didn't enjoy the view you got earlier?"

Emma narrowed her eyes – the leather-clad view she'd gotten walking behind Killian _had_ been very nice, something to focus on while trying to escape another life or death situation. Apparently that kind of thing ran in the family. According to Mary Margaret, it wasn't the only thing that did.

"When I first met your father, I was threatening and robbing him," she'd sounded nostalgic.

Killian's laugh broke through Emma's thoughts. The sun was starting to slip below the horizon, casting all kinds of colors across the water. It was a beautiful sight. She wandered towards Killian until he became a strong line of warmth against her side.

"You dropped your bouquet, isn't that bad luck?"

Emma shrugged; as if that was her biggest concern. "So I'll get another one. And give it to Belle."

That would keep Gold distracted for a while. Killian's arm slid around her waist, his hand was warm through the dress's silk, warm and distracting. Emma had to remind herself to keep her breathing steady and even.

"Ready for your honeymoon, Mrs. Swan?" Killian asked, low and rich with promise.

Emma couldn't prevent a minor shiver. A week alone together (at last), then a week with Henry, if all went according to plan. David and Mulan would be manning the Sheriff's station. Emma's gun was tucked into a hidden thigh holster which, from Killian's smirks, he'd already guessed the location of. She carefully let go of the sword.

The air was cool and sparked with something that wasn't present in Storybrooke. Emma's head curved towards Killian, a promise of her own. Then she began pulling pins out of her disheveled hair, something she'd been wanting to do for hours. There was a new weight to her movements though, thanks to the wide silver jeweled ring on her left hand. It was still warm from its years spent on Killian's finger.

Her hair fell free and pins scattered to the deck. They'd be collected up later, because fairytale adventures seemed to involve a lot of jail time and waiting for a rescue never ended well. Emma's hand slid under Killian's black buttoned shirt, teasing at warm skin, his pulse dancing brilliantly at her touch.

His breathing stuttered, becoming deliciously heavy, and his eyes slid shut. It was Emma's turn to smirk; she had no intention of letting him get his bearings again, not for another week. She slid her hand away and as she turned, to garbled protests from Killian, she peeled off her jacket. Her feet were already bare, she'd abandoned her shoes after the first shot was fired. The dress's silk whispered like an invisible chorus.

Every one of Killian's protests fell silent.

Emma's smirk sharpened and she headed purposefully towards the lower deck, where Killian's cabin awaited.

"My answer is yes, by the way," she called nonchalantly over her shoulder as she was almost out of sight. "What's yours, Mr. Swan?"

The magic that flowed out of her, that she'd learned to embrace and refine, continued to fill the ship's sails. Once they were further away from the hostile enchanted shores, it would ensure that the anchor dropped. But it wasn't magic that compelled Killian to abandon his favored position at the ship's wheel and follow his wife below deck, it was something much more potent.

_-the end_


End file.
